Misgivings
by Kati Laur
Summary: After Helm's Deep, Aragorn receives news that Sauron now has favor in the War for the Ring. PART TWO: Aragorn learns of the horrible truth befalling Middle-Earth and seeks the assistance of Rohan. *UPDATED* Please read and review :)
1. Pains of Darkness

Misgivings, Part 1  
"Pains of Darkness"  
by Kati + Laur  
Disclaimer: Kati and Laur do not own. See Tolkien. And it's more movie than book. You'll see.   
Summary (Part 1): Sam and Frodo realize the only way to live is to escape from the kingdom of Gondor.  
  
-----  
  
Night fell; it was the coldest summer night in the all the history of Gondor. Nothing could be heard except the icy winds sweeping across the rubble and the dead. Gondor had never had an attack on their city this massive. It was wondered if the city would even be able to carry on after that night.   
  
Huddled in a corner of broken apart amoury, two hobbits clung together trying to shield their small bodies from the bitter cold. Two guards shivered and talked to one another outside the entrance, trying to push from the minds the destruction they had seen that day.  
  
"Mr. Frodo." Sam whispered, lips trembling. "Are you alright, Mr. Frodo?"   
  
"I'm f-f-f-fine, Sam." Frodo managed to slip out.  
  
"We have to get out of here." Sam continued. "We can't last here much longer."  
  
"Sam, we can't leave."  
  
"The two of us alone can't do anything. We need help, Mr. Frodo. From anyone who's willing to give it to us. But the two of us? Alone? We wouldn't last two minutes by ourselves." Sam broke apart from the huddle and lifted his head to peer out at the two guards. "We have no other choice."  
  
Frodo turned toward the entrance. He knew in the very depths of his being that this really was his only opportunity to escape. Who knows what would happen to them if they stayed in Gondor? But despite all the certainty he felt to leave, his mind was plagued with what would happen if he stay. Would it be better in the long run? A burden should have been lifted from his small shoulders, but instead it felt like he was carrying the weight of Middle-Earth tenfold.  
  
"You're right, Sam. We can't stay here. There's nothing left for us alone."   
  
The two hobbits stared intently at the entrance, watching for any opportunity to sneak past their captors. Hours seemed to trudge as they huddled close to one another, trying not to even breathe too loud out of fear that they would be caught for even thinking of escape. Finally, one of the guards mumbled something solemn to the other and lumbered away, towards the center of the city, leaving one tired and nearly frozen guard to stand watch alone.  
  
"Now's our chance, Mr. Frodo." Sam stood slowly, gingerly. He crept towards the archway, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head and down his forehead. Frodo was a step behind, doing the same to his hood. The two pressed their small frames against the cold stone that surrounded them and with small sidesteps, made their way out of the armory.  
  
With a few small steps, Frodo was facing the guard's back, about seven feet in front of him. A panic rose in Frodo's blood. He suddenly couldn't move one more step. Sam was already paces ahead of him, but he felt that if he even shifted his weight from one foot to the other that he would be caught. His fingers gripped the frozen wall, and his large eyes were fixated on the guard's back.  
  
Sam was almost completely out of the guard's view before he realized that Frodo wasn't behind him. He whipped around to see Frodo's expression of horror. His mouth was wide open and his chest heaved, trying to get any breath into his closed lungs. Sam inched back to Frodo's side, but Frodo didn't even notice that Sam was next to him once again. He grabbed Frodo's wrist in an attempt to get him to budge, but it was in vain. The expression of complete fear still lingered on Frodo's brow, and his hand remained clasped to the wall. Sam searched to all sides, as silently as he could, to try and find anything to help them get out of there. His eyes turned to the ground, where bits and pieces of fallen buildings lay at his feet. He picked up a jagged piece of stone about the size of his palm, and gripped it in his fingers. Swallowing all his breath, Sam threw the debris with all his might, and it sailed unknowingly over the guard's head. When the rock had disappeared from view, it was followed by a large clang, as if it hit something made of metal, and then a crash, causing a chain reaction of objects to topple over. The guard whipped his head towards the noise, and ruckus of loud voices raised. The sound of rusty armor and tired bodies jogged in the direction of the clamor. Loud voices shouted, raising the alarm of another possible attack.  
  
Sam's fingers once again wrapped around Frodo's wrist, this time with success. Frodo's expression dissipated and his shocked eyes turned to meet Sam's gaze. "C'mon, Mr. Frodo." Sam managed to get out over the shouts and banter of the soldiers. "We don't have much time."  
  
The two hobbits turned on their large feet and sprinted as fast as their legs could carry them. Ducking behind any fallen column or broken bits of statues, Frodo and Sam managed to slip past any guard that crossed their path. Sam stayed ahead, being sure to scan each area before giving the signal to proceed. Towards the outskirts of the city, voices could be heard back in the distance.   
  
"They've escaped! The hobbits have escaped!"  
  
"Tell Captain Faramir! Sound the alarm!"  
  
"They couldn't have gotten far!"  
  
Frodo turned towards the direction of the voices, trying to process everything at once. He missed his footing and fell into a pile of rocks before him. Sam heard the crash and turned to see Frodo face first in a pile of dirt and shards. He pulled Frodo back to his feet. The sound of armored footsteps came from around the corner. Frodo's frozen expression returned to his face, but Sam grabbed the front of Frodo's cloak and pulled him low to the ground, creeping towards a darkened corner of a collapsed building.   
  
Sam pulled Frodo against the cold iron bars that covered the walls, trying to keep any sudden jerks or movements to be noticed by the two guards passing in front of the emaciated structure. Heavy breaths heaved from Frodo's lungs. He clasped his chest, and felt his heartbeat through his chest. He's never felt it beat so fast in all the times he could remember.  
  
A long pale arm reached through the bars and gripped Frodo's right shoulder. A loud gasp rose from Frodo's lips as he flipped around to see what had touched him.  
  
"Smeagol!" Frodo whispered loudly. Gollum was huddled in the farthest corner of his cell, his long arms wrapped around his mangled body. Even in the dead of night, Gollum's pale skin glowed. "Smeagol. Master's here."  
  
"Master." Gollum's long skinny neck turned in Frodo's direction. Frodo was taken back by the even more dishelved form of Gollum that was before him. His skin was even paler then usual and his bright eyes were dull, glazed over. "What's the Master doings way out here? The Master will gets hurt." Gollum turned on his knuckles and crawled towards the worried Frodo and the watchful Sam. Trying to peer over Gollum's head, Frodo caught sight of a dark puddle near where Gollum was standing before.  
  
"What's wrong, Smeagol? Tell Master." Gollum rolled over on his back and starred straight up into the night sky. A large gash lay across Gollum's chest; bright red droplets gathered in the corner of the wound and dried flakes of blood lay gathered on Gollum's chest.  
  
"The mean men hurts us, Master. Makes them stop hurting us."  
  
"Oh, Smeagol." Frodo's demeanor softened and he reached into the cage to take Gollum's icy hand.   
  
Sam reached and stopped Frodo's intent. "Mr. Frodo, there's no time for this. We're going to get caught if we stay here."  
  
"We can't just leave him here, Sam! The soldiers are hurting him. He's scared."  
  
"Don't leaves us, Master. Don't leaves." Gollum's voice was even raspier and courser then usual. Frodo turned and stared at Sam, trying to get any kind of response from him at all.  
  
"I hear something over here!" A soldier shouted from a distance away.  
  
"Frodo, we can't stay here. We have to leave now!" Sam pleaded. Frodo turned to Gollum once again, still crumpled on the floor of his cage, defeated and wasted. Sam rose and made his way to the opposite end of the building, trying to see a clear path out of the city.   
  
"Smeagol, listen. Master will come back for you. I promise. I will come back and get you out of here." Gollum looked away from the stars and stared at Frodo, the blueness of each other's eyes reflecting off one another. "I promise I will be back."  
  
"FRODO!" Sam hissed. Frodo mirrored Gollum one more time and then gather himself and followed Sam out of the building. The two hobbits started sprinting again, looking for anyway out of the city. Behind them, Gollum's screams could be heard, pleading for "Master" to return.   
  
The buildings of the city began to grow smaller, being steadily replaced by fields and trees. Soon, the two companions were free. They continued to run until they felt they would die if they took one more step. To the hobbits, nothing was left of Osgiliath except the flickering light of torches and the horrible memories that took place.   
  
Sam knelt down on the cold earth and breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath after all the running they had done. He rummaged through his sack to try and find any remnants of food. Frodo, exhausted as well, leaned against the closest tree to him. He was free; everything should be fine now. Nothing left to worry about. He raised his hand, trying to feel if his heartbeat had slowed any since they left the city.   
  
A sharp pain jolted into Frodo's chest. He cried out, pulling at his shirt and cloak, doing anything he could to stop the pain. i"Why is this happening?"/i Muddled thoughts raced through his head. i"This shouldn't be happening."/i Another jolt surged and traveled to every tip of his body. He cried out again, falling to the ground and grasping at the tree roots.  
  
The sudden cries startled Sam, who dropped his pack to the ground, his water jug toppled over and spilled into the ground. He crawled over to Frodo. He jerked from side to side, shrieking in pain with each shot. "Frodo!" Sam gripped Frodo's hand, intertwining their fingers. "Hold on, Mr. Frodo! I've got you!"  
  
A final and heavy shot of pain shot through Frodo's chest and he let out a blood-curdling scream that echoed throughout the trees. Sam still held tightly to Frodo's hand trying to steady his convulsing body. Frodo turned to Sam, a wave of fatigue swept over his body. "Sammm..." he barely muttered. His eyes glazed over and their brilliance dulled. His head rolled to one side and stared out into the empty black night.  
  
"No." Sam shouted. "Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo! No!"  
  
Sam's frantic eyes scanned Frodo, looking for any sign that his friend was still there. The wind blew hard as Sam shielded the side of his face facing the wind. He couldn't think. His head was swimming. All he knew was that Gondor was too close and every other place in the world was too far away. Frodo wouldn't survive out here. Sam needed to find some place safe. It was Frodo's only chance.   
  
Somehow, with all the weight from his pack, Sam picked up Frodo and ran out of the forest shelter. He wished more then anything, that he had a map. Sam didn't know anything about the world that stretched farther then the East Farling. He held Frodo's crumpled body to his chest and ran with as much speed his tired feet could muster. He ran in the only direction he could see, heading to the West, following the light of the moon high in the sky.   
  
Two long agonizing nights stretched on and Frodo's weight was starting to take its toll on Sam. Day and night lingered, and each step was more ounce of the strength that he didn't have. Every few hours, the hobbit would stop and rest his exhausted muscles, allowing himself a gulp of water before continuing.   
  
Frodo was even paler every time they rested. The two days he was in Sam's care, he didn't wake. Sam wasn't even sure he was breathing. Sam would lay Frodo gingerly on the ground and look for anything that would give the signal that Mr. Frodo was in there. Sam laid his hand on Frodo's chest, and each time, he breathed a deep sigh of relief when he could feel a faint heartbeat. But each time, the beating was softer and softer. Frodo was growing weaker and weaker by the minute.  
  
The hills and mountains passed and trees and forests gave way to wide open valleys and windy pathways. After those two horrible nights, alone and scared in the wilderness, Sam found his glimmer of hope.  
  
A city lay in the distance, on top of a hill. The top of the largest building reflected the sun's rays into a brilliant shower of gold that blinded Samwise. It was the first clue that Sam had seen in days to let him know that he wasn't alone in the world. i"There Mr. Frodo will be safe. They can help him there."/i Hope had finally arrived and Sam continued the arduous journey to the city on the distant hill.  
  
Ahead of him, Sam heard the soft whiney of horses. And then followed by a fast gallop, heading in his direction. Two beautifully adorned charcoal-grey horses appeared over a small mound, and mounted on top laid the glittering armor of two native soldiers. "Who goes there?" A gruff voice shouted from atop one of the horses.  
  
The gallop grew louder as they headed towards Sam and Frodo, still laying half way between life and death in Sam's arms. They stopped suddenly right in front of Sam, their sheer size atop their horses caused Sam to draw back and feel light-headed.  
  
"Who are you and what is your business here?" The loud and angry voice shouted again. Sam couldn't feel a voice within his throat anymore. He just stared with wide and scared eyes at the giant horsemen before him. "WHO ARE YOU?" The soldier yelled again.   
  
Sam's vision clouded over, and everything in front of his eyes became as dark as night.   
  
---------  
  
The battle for Helm's Deep served as the turning point to Rohanian history. The people of the Horse Kingdom were saved from extinction thanks to the leadership of Theodan, the King of Rohan, and three mysterious hunters, appearing one day from the fields accompanying the wizard, Gandalf.  
  
The population that remained made the long returning journey to their capital city on top of a hill, Edoras. With the help of the hunters, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas, elf of the Woodland Realm, the Rohanians tried to rebuild their lives with some semblance of what had passed.  
  
But unrest remained within the band of hunters. The ever-growing threat of an attack from Mordor increased with each passing day and the three began to grow unsure of what the future would hold for them. They understand what could happen if Mordor chose to attack, but for them, especially Aragorn, the idea of two little hobbits roaming the wilderness with the One Ring in their keeping always remained in the back of their minds. iWhere were their friends? Had they reached Mordor? Were they even alive?/i  
  
This restlessness caused many disagreements within the party. Aragorn and Legolas had different ideas of where their journey should lead them next.  
  
"We cannot sit idly by, Aragorn. We have the backing of Rohan's army, now it is time to seek the assistance of Gondor," Legolas said to Aragorn, his deep blue eyes intense and unwavering. Both towered over the dwarf, whose eyes darted between the two. He listened with a hopeful ear for a time when he could let his voice below them be heard.  
  
"The Rohanians need at least a day to rest. As well as the three of us, Legolas. We are wearing ourselves thin. If we go in there, determined to fight Mordor, we will not have the strength to defend ourselves, much less execute an offensive attack. At this moment, we do not have the strength."  
  
"He has a point," chimed Gimli, a smile of satisfaction spreading across his face.  
  
Both the man and the elf shot a look to the dwarf. The smile disappeared under a long braided beard, and the two went back to their disagreement. Aragorn gritted his teeth, and continued. "Without the help of the Rohanians, we are nothing. The three of us cannot take on an army that numbers as large as Mordor's. If for nothing else, this time is for the Rohanians." He stopped and looked around the city that lay before his feet. He and his companions stood on the very balcony of the Golden Hall. The figures of the small Rohanian citizens darted in and out of various buildings spread across the hillside. Aragorn's voice softened. "Their entire world disappeared in the matter of one battle. They need to rebuild." he said, still looking out at the people. "If nothing else, these people need us here. For whatever reason, we need to be here. We just...we just do." Aragorn turned back to his friends, staring at his obvious display of emotion for the people before.  
  
Before Legolas could even open his mouth to reply, the conversation below them became louder, interrupting whatever train of thought that had been held before.  
  
"So, where were they?" asked one of the guards that stood watch over Meduseld.   
  
"Out there." the other answered. "Just beyond that ridge." Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli looked out to the open fields, although unsure of the direction the guard below them meant. "I heard there were two of them."  
  
"Do you know what they were? I heard they were two children."  
  
"No, not children. Something else. I'm not quite sure exactly what." The guard shouted something unknown to a passer-by below them and then continued. "One of them is very small. Incredibly sick. He's down the infirmary now."  
  
Aragorn raced the edge of the balcony and shouted to the men below him. "And what of the other?" Legolas and Gimli came to both sides of him and waited eagerly for an answer. The guard paused, curious of the band's sudden interest in the findings of the army. "Quickly, man." Aragorn shouted. "What of the other?"  
  
"Umm...he's down at the infirmary, as well, Lord Aragorn. He was unconscious when he was found, but when he awoke he babbled something about Mister...um...Mister...Odo or something like that. And started in about the Shire and a ring. He was quite incoherent from what I understand."  
  
All three exchanged looks amongst one another before turning and running back inside and through the Golden Hall. They passed the two confused guards on the way out and raced down the steep hillside to the city below.  
  
[end part one] 


	2. Tyel Elena The End

Misgivings, Part 2  
"Tyel Elena (The End)"  
by Kati + Laur  
Disclaimer: Eh, we don't own any of this. We just play.   
Summary (Part 2): Upon the arrival and announcement of Sam and Frodo, Aragorn learns of the horrible truth befalling Middle-Earth and seeks the assistance of Rohan.  
  
-----  
"There you go little one." The rag in the nurse's hand cleared the sweat that covered Sam's face. The small and tired hobbit lay there, eyes half closed, squinting from the bright sun light that flooded the room. "Try to get some sleep now."  
  
Sam's pursed lips muttered something the nurse couldn't quite make out and his eyelids slid down and soon he was asleep. The nurse gathered her items from around her and gathered her skirt. She turned towards the door but stopped in her tracks. She looked down at Sam, sleeping innocently in the glow of the day. Her long fingers removed a few stray pieces of curly hair from his damp forehead. A smile spread across her face and she gathered herself once again to leave.   
  
A soft click signaled to Sam that the nurse had finally left the room. His eyes popped open and he quickly looked about the room to make sure that the nurse had finally left. He had been waiting for hours it seemed so that he could go see how Frodo was doing. The other hobbit was lying in a bed next to Sam, covers up to his chest, his sleeves rolled up, and a white rag   
was placed on his forehead.   
  
Sam slowly slipped out from under his covers, his furry hobbit feet hitting the cool floor. He walked silently over to the pale Frodo and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached his hand out and gripped Frodo's frozen hand. Frodo's skin was ice blue and cold to touch. To an on-looker, it would seem that Frodo was no longer alive, except for the small gasps of air that   
would rise from Frodo's lips every few moments.  
  
Small round tears formed in the corner of Sam's eyes. He looked upon his best friend, who looked as if death had seized and shaken any sign of life out of him.   
  
"Why Mr. Frodo?" Sam squeezed Frodo's hand even tighter. "Why did it have to end like this?"  
  
----------  
  
"You can't be here! I'm sorry, my Lord, but it's quarantined!"  
  
Aragorn stood in front of the hefty nurse, who was short in stature; she could be very intimidating if he were an ill man, but he stood nearly two feet above her. "My Lady, we must see if--"  
  
"No."  
  
"But my Lady--" The anger was rising in Aragorn's voice. He was not trying to lose patience with the nurse, but he was losing this battle.  
  
"You don't listen well, do you, Lord Aragorn? King Theoden has ordered the infirmary to be closed off to anyone who was not ill or injured. We are full with both -- near-dead soldiers and... and ill little hobbits." The nurse took a deep breath, determined to keep the dark tall lord out of the rooms behind her. Gimli waited loyally at Aragorn's side. She was red   
faced, her cheeks flaming, and her eyes burning. But while she focused on Aragorn, she did not see the blur of an elf sprinting past her.   
  
Legolas went past the walls of beds, hundreds, maybe thousands of aching, moaning men injured at Helm's Deep. He kept his attention away from them and scurried to the furthermost door. Before Legolas himself could open it, it swung open, revealing a hobbit, who had come to see about the voices.   
  
Legolas's expression changed as his eyes rested on the hobbit, and Sam's face lit, revealing the hope he now felt to be reunited with Legolas. iWhat of Strider and Gimli?/i he thought quickly. Sam, in that moment, forgot all his troubles of Frodo and his exhaustion and once again became like the joyful hobbit from the Shire. He did the first thing that came to   
mind: he ran to Legolas and threw his arms around his waist and hugged the elf tightly.   
  
Legolas turned to the others and shouted to the other end of the infirmary. "Aragorn! Gimli! It's Samwise! It's Sam! Sam!"  
  
Sam looked up at the elf and smiled. Strider and Gimli were both here! Tears of happiness formed in the corners of his eyes. It was all too good to be true.  
  
Gimli, upon hearing Legolas's announcement, ran around the nurse's short legs. Aragorn pushed past the nurse, who spun and stamped her foot. "Now--"  
  
They both ignored the nurse, and ran towards Legolas and Samwise. Their feet pounded on the stone, and Sam left Legolas and met them half way. Gimli got to Sam first, and the two embraced long and hard as the dwarf laughed merrily. When they separated, Sam nodded towards Aragorn, and after a moment's awkwardness, he threw his arms around the Ranger's waist.   
Aragorn, moved by this sentiment, returned the hobbit's embrace. He looked over Sam's head back at Legolas, who was now glancing into the room Sam had came out from.   
  
"Aragorn, you must come quickly." Legolas said, looking back at his companion. Aragorn moved the hobbit's arms and walked towards Legolas. The fear in the elf's expression worried the man. Sam's eyes fell on the two tall warriors, as they looked upon his ill friend. The light in his eyes when he first learned of his friends had gone out. He watched as the tall   
heir of kings looked onto Frodo, a mixture of grief and confusion flooding his features. Sam started to step towards them.  
  
"Strider," Sam said solemnly, walking up behind him, followed by Gimli. "There's something of great importance I need to tell you. Great importance."  
  
As he said that, Aragorn glanced away from Frodo back to Sam. He knew Samwise intended to tell him what had happened to Frodo. Aragorn nodded, and followed Sam into the room. The nurse, who had been trudging her way over to the man, the elf, and the dwarf, shouted one last time, but Legolas shut the door to leave Aragorn and Sam, leaving he and Gimli to defend   
themselves against the tyrant nurse.   
  
Inside, the late afternoon sun warmed the ill feeling room, yet Frodo's pallor dampened the splendor of the light. Samwise Gamgee took his seat back at the foot of Frodo's bed and looked upon Aragorn with sad troubled eyes. "Mr. Frodo is more sick than he's ever been, Strider."  
  
Aragorn took pity on the small hobbit; before, whenever Frodo was in peril, Samwise was not the only one to carry the burden. Yet since he followed along Frodo's path, headed for Mordor, he alone felt responsible for Frodo Baggins of the Shire, nearly heavy as the responsibility Frodo carried.   
  
Aragorn lowered himself down onto one knee, eye level with Sam. "I'm sure the infirmary of Rohan will help him, young Samwise."  
  
Sam's eyes shot up, meeting Aragorn's gaze. "They don't know what's wrong with him. But I do. And no one's listening to me. They don't believe me!"   
  
Aragorn raised his hand, signaling Samwise to calm himself. "I understand it's upsetting, but tell me outright, Sam. What happened to Frodo?"  
  
"I should have never let Mr. Frodo out of my sight." Sam mumbled, then looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "Maybe this wouldn't have happened if I hadn't."  
  
"Maybe would what not happen?"  
  
Sam's face drew a blank, then slowly crumpled. The sheer force of what he was going to say cause so much distress that the hobbit found silent tears running down his cheeks. He looked down at his feet, trying to hide them from the Ranger.   
  
"Sam, what happened? Did you get to Mordor? What's wrong with Frodo?"  
  
"No, no, no." The hobbit shook his head, not wanting to say it. He couldn't. He had failed. He looked down at the cold stone floor and wiggled his toes, trying to figure out how to formulate what he had to say. Simply, Sam said, "It's gone."  
  
Fear washed over Aragorn's mind, hoping he was misinterpreting what Sam was saying. "What? What's gone?" said Aragorn, in a low, quiet voice, eager to find out what it was. Sam fell into silent sobs. "Answer me, Sam. What is missing?"  
  
"The ring, Strider. It's gone. Gone."   
  
-----------  
  
"How dare you!" the nurse huffed. "Under no circumstances is anyone--" She had been shouting for several minutes and whatever attempts made by the elf and dwarf to stop her rant proved fruitless.  
  
"In all my years, I have never--" as her rant continued, the sudden clamorous opening of Sam's door startled the small group. Aragorn's heavy boots stomped out of the room and echoed against the large empty hallway. The expression on his face was stone cold and eyes filled with a mix of anger and fright, undisturbed by the activity around him.   
  
"What--" Gimli's words were met by a gust of wind from Aragorn's cape as he rushed past the trio and headed out the door into the warm morning air. Gimli and Legolas stared at one another for a moment before quickly following their leader out the door to the City on the Hill.  
  
Outside, the two scanned the city for view of their friend. His dark figure had disappeared from their sight. "What's going on?" Gimli asked, with a gruff innocence. He pounded the handle of axe in the ground as some way to let out his frustration. Aragorn was not known to leave his companions in the dark about any situation as he had this time.   
  
"I don't know. Something's wrong. Terribly wrong." Legolas fell deep into his thoughts trying to sort out the events of the past few moments. iWhat could possibly have happened in there? Aragorn is not one to act so irrationally. Especially towards--/i His keen eye sight caught something heading up the hill. He turned to see Aragorn, heading into Meduseld,   
still with a fury in his eye and a quick pace to his steps.  
  
"Up there, Gimli!" Legolas pointed to the Golden Hall and raced up the hill. Gimli started up, trying to keep with the speed of the elf and the man but his small legs proved no match to their agility.  
  
Aragorn passed the two guards who had given him the information of the hobbits arrival, still holding guard over the Golden Hall. "Everything all right, Lord Aragorn?" asked one of the guards.   
  
"Not now." His voice hard and held a twinge of anger within it. He stared forward, eyes unwavering. He hit the doors to the hall with a hard slam of his fist and continued his entrance into the Hall.  
  
Legolas was only a few paces behind him, carefully but quickly retracing Aragorn's steps. "Master Legolas, what of--" Legolas placed his hand up as a sign for them to stop and he scurried past them, trying his best to keep up with Aragorn.  
  
Almost a hundred feet behind him, Gimli lumbered up the steps, panting heavily from running up the steep hillside. He bent over, holding his stomach, trying to create a greater flow of oxygen to his tired lungs.   
  
"Master Gimli, what of Lord Aragorn and Master Legolas?" The guard was beyond puzzled by the out-of-character actions of the two warriors. Never in all the days that he had been with them in Edoras had he seen either of them act in such a manner.   
  
Gimli rolled up, placed his heavy gloved hand on the blade of his axe, and heaved a sigh of exhaustion. "Why are you asking me? I'm just the dwarf!"  
  
Past the wooden tables laden with fruits and wines and the burning torches of the Great Hall, Aragorn walked with a quick step.   
  
iI should have never let them leave. I should have never let Frodo go off on his own. Not without the proper protection./i   
  
He turned the left staircase just past Theoden's throne, empty at the moment. He raced up the winding staircase, dragging his fingers across the wall to keep his balance as his heavy steps continued up loft of the Hall. Moving down the corridor, he heard many voices of laughter coming from behind the closed doors on either side of him.  
  
No smile or mirth spread across his face. His mind was racing with the here and now. Then moving forward to the future and what that would hold. He was unsure. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. If something like ithis/i could happen...  
  
Aragorn continued down the hall to the last door where his sleep quarters were. He crashed through the room, nearly knocking the door off of its hinges as he headed to his bed, covered in furs and blankets. Underneath his mattress, he pulled a beaten brown leather satchel, looking almost as worn as Aragorn did. Some random articles of clothing were picked up from the surrounding area and thrown quickly into the bag. He paced frantically around the room trying to jog his memory as to what else he would need on the journey he would soon embark on. To the right side of his bed, he saw his dagger: the one given to him by Celeborn when the Fellowship parted from Lothlorien.   
  
His head was swimming with memories -- of what he had done and what he had to do. Aragorn wrapped his fingers around the handle and unsheathed the dagger from its scabbard. The bright metal had not dulled since the day he received and it still glistened in the sun, the light shining into the room from a small window in the far corner of the room. The elvish blade lay flat against his chest, as Aragorn stared gravely up at the ceiling.   
  
iHow could this happen?/i  
  
The dagger from his grip and landed on the floor with a loud clang. Aragorn's heavy, down-trodden body lowered to the floor. He pulled his knees up to his chest and his hands were folded in front of his hands.   
  
iThis is the end./i  
  
"Aragorn." He jumped with a startle with the sound of the voice.   
  
Legolas stared from the doorway, looking down upon his friend huddled on the floor in front of the bed. Aragorn face had gone pale, and in the past five minutes, it looked like he had aged 100 years. "What's going on?" Legolas asked innocently. For the first time since he had joined the Fellowship, he felt like that he could be of help to Aragorn. Helplessness was   
a feeling that Legolas had a distaste for.   
  
The elvish words fell blankly on Aragorn's ears. His face has still buried in his clasped hands, and he muttered silent elvish to himself, trying to calm himself. Legolas could see that his speaking had had no affect on Aragorn. He kneeled before his leader and looked for any kind of response that would show that his friend was still present.   
  
"Aragorn. Something's the matter. What did Sam say? Is Frodo all right?"   
  
Aragorn chuckled slightly from Legolas's questions. His words sounded exactly like the one's Aragorn had asked of Sam only a short time ago. But his demeanor quickly reverted back to one of coldness and determination. He was unsure of how to answer Legolas. Should he follow the bluntness of Sam's delivery? Or should he try to explain it so Legolas would not have   
the same reaction that he had?   
  
Aragorn rose to his feet and continued the throw the items into his satchel, returning to the task as if he had never stopped. Legolas still knelt on the ground, his perplexed expression still lingered upon his face. He also rose and waited for an answer to his questions. Aragorn had his back to Legolas but he could sense the tension that filled the room. But he   
chose to ignore it.  
  
After seeing that all he could fit into his tiny satchel had been stuffed inside, Aragorn threw it over his shoulder and headed for the exit. But he misestimated Legolas elvish speed and reflexes. Legolas rushed to the door and braced himself against the doorframe with both arms to cut of Aragorn's attempt at an escape. "Aragorn, mani marte? [iWhat happened?/i]" His voice was angry and forceful, definitely a break from his usual subdued mannerisms.   
  
Hearing the anger in Legolas's voice, Aragorn realized that he should not leave his companion in the dark any longer, no matter what kind of reaction would follow. He raised his hand and removed Legolas's arm from the doorway and squeezed his way into the hallway. He stared down at the satchel at his side, playing with the buckle to try and avoid eye contact.   
  
"It's the ring, Legolas." Aragorn looked away from his bag and turned to Legolas whose own expression faded from puzzlement to pure fear. "Gondor has taken it from the ring-bearer. It is in their possession now."  
  
Without waiting for any words to be exchanged Aragorn adjusted the belt and sword at his side and made his way back down the corridor. As he stomped down the stone hall once again, Gimli passed by him. Gimli looked up at Aragorn's expression, no longer cold, but instead full of hopelessness. Aragorn continued past Gimli, only placing a hand on the dwarf's shoulder   
to acknowledge his presence.   
  
Legolas leaned against the wall inside Aragorn's room. His own mind starting to be filled with despair.   
  
iIt has come. The end is near./i   
  
He raised his trembling hand to his forehead and rested it there to try and ease the constricted muscles around his eyes. Gimli popped his head into the cold, but bright room and squinted, looked around, then saw Legolas. He stared up at the defeated elf.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
----------  
  
"I forbid it!" King Theoden declared, standing from his throne. He stepped to his nephew, his heir, Eomer. Aragorn stood behind Eomer, an on-looker to -- and as most would say, the reason of -- this family dispute. "You are not to go on such a mission. You are my heir -- my remaining heir! -- to Rohan, and I refuse to let you be jeopardized because you want to go   
and fight."  
  
"There is great importance behind this, Theoden. You have failed to see such--"  
  
"Do not talk back to me, my boy! My sister-son!"  
  
Eomer stood tall, paying respect to the King, his uncle. But he could know longer stand in the silence that was expected of him. "Theoden, great uncle, I must leave. If I shall die in this war--"  
  
"You will not go to war!"  
  
"If I shall die in this war," Eomer repeated, his voice booming over his aging uncle, "You are not without an heir. You have my sister, your sister-daughter, Eowyn."  
  
"Eowyn? She knows nothing of governing people. All she knows is of their love and hopes, and holding that is not enough to give them peace. Eowyn is strong, but she is no king." Theoden spoke bitterly, then took Eomer aside. Aragorn looked on, not actively in the scene, as the King of Rohan tried quietly pleading with Eomer, trying to talk some sense into him. All the while, Eomer had a look of rebellion in his eyes, ignoring what the King said.   
  
Aragorn, feeling like an intruder, turned to leave, bowing silently. Eomer, seeing this from the corner of his eyes, interrupted the king. "Why do you think you'd be leaving without my company? No worries, Lord Aragorn," he said, looking back at the king with spite in his eyes, then faced Aragorn. "You shall have my assistance." Eomer then turned from the king, and met with the heir to the throne of Gondor.   
  
"My boy!" Theoden cried out in desperation rather than anger.  
  
Eomer stopped, and looked hard upon the king, drawing his words further away from the king's hope. Quietly, and with no room for question, he stated, "I am leaving. I need not your blessing nor your permission." He turned away, nodded to Aragorn. Eomer was to get ready to leave for Gondor.  
  
Aragorn bowed to the king, and went to follow Eomer. Theoden lowered himself into his throne, bitterness stitched across his features.   
  
"Tell me, Aragorn," Theoden said suddenly, tired and saddened as he sat upon his mighty throne. Aragorn turned on his heel to face the king. "Tell me what you intend to accomplish here? By asking of my heir's assistance?"  
  
Aragorn thought long and hard before he said anything, not wanting to give the wrong impression to the mighty King of Rohan. "To deliver Middle-Earth from Darkness, my Lord. The grasp of Sauron and Saruman is growing everyday. The old alliances, as you once said, are broken." Aragorn stepped fast and shortened the distance between himself and the king. In a low voice, he continued, "The ring has left the ring-bearer, my Lord. It is now in the hands of Gondor."  
  
Theoden sighed heavily, a sigh of deep burden. He nodded ever-so-slightly. "Hope is dead, then. Hope is dead."  
  
"No, it is still there," Aragorn said, even though he felt the same as the King, darkened with grief. "Understand, my lord. Eomer wishes to defend that hope, and it is that for which he leaves."  
  
Theoden's forehead folded, nostrils flared. With his hands on the arms of the throne, he tried to push himself to his feet, to meet Aragorn, but his strength had given out from such news, and he sunk back into his throne.   
  
Aragorn bowed. He then turned and left the Golden Hall, leaving Theoden to his thoughts. The heir of Isildur quickened his pace; he needed to join the others before night fall, and the sun hung low in the horizon.  
  
  
[end part 2] 


	3. Siblings

Misgivings, Part 3  
  
"Siblings"  
  
by Kati + Laur  
  
Disclaimer: We just dabble. We do not own. (But we wish we did.)   
  
Summary (Part 3): Eomer remembers the day that made him a man. And Eowyn wants to prove that she is an equal.  
  
Eomer entered his chambers, preparing to leave with the others. Aragorn had wanted to leave before nightfall, enough time to eat and equip, and then they were to be on their way. He crossed to the other side of the room, where tapestries, used weapons, and antiques made their home. His eyes ran over the wall quickly, and he found what he had been looking for, something he hid a long time ago. No one else would know it's special meaning, except for him.  
  
===============================  
  
A blank grey day. Like many seen in the Rohirrim. But today was darker, and black heavy clouds loomed in the distance. A young boy of ten, with long scraggly blond hair sat on the steps of the palace of Edoras. The wild wind pulled his hair back, and stung his eyes. But they were small and focused, and never moved from the horizon. Columns of smoke rose from beyond the hills and the faint battle cries of his countrymen echoed through the valley.  
  
"You said they'd be back by now. Why is it taking them so long to return?"  
  
"Fear not, my dear boy. Your father and uncle have in each of them the strength of three men and the bravery of ten." A deep gentle voice from behind him spoke.  
  
The boy spun himself around on the step and stared straight up at the old man before him, his deep blue eyes set into his young face were sad and lonely. "I don't understand." He twisted his neck to look at the horizon again. "Why is this happening?"  
  
A grey beard bent down to the boy's level, and an old liver-spotted hand was placed on his small shoulder. "The greed in men's hearts is what makes war. It is the courage of others that rights their wrongs." The old man himself looked towards the horizon. "There is never an end to times like these. Only new beginnings." He looked once again at the fair-haired boy. "New leaders will be forged and new heroes will be made."  
  
Despite the intensity of his blue eyes, they showed his confusion at the old man's words. All he understood was that he and his sister were in Edoras...and his father was not.  
  
"The time will come when you will understand. Now you are too young to follow the ramblings of an old man." He said with a chuckle and turned on his old knotted staff and took quivering steps to the doors of the great hall.  
  
But then he heard a noise. In the distance. His ears may have been old, but they were as keen and as sharp as ever. A horse. But just any horse. A purebred of Edoras.  
  
The boy heard it too. But now there were two horses. Nay, three. Soon, the whineying of a dozen drowned out the screams and crackling fires in the distance. The men on the horses' backs entered the city, running up the steep sides of the hill.  
  
"MAKE WAY STORMCROW!" The lead soldier shouted. The old man pulled the boy backwards out of the doorway and placed a protective arm across his chest. Shining armour walked with hastened steps past the wide-eyed pair as their blood covered swords clanged against the stone ground. Four of them held a cot, each struggling with the weight of the person within it. The wounded was covered in blood and it lay in dried up pools on his face. Fresh cuts bled new red fluid onto the expression of horror that was on his face. Though his eyes were closed and mouth showed nothing, no one could mistake the appearence of fear. As the troops rushed past, a flash of gold around the limp neck caught the boy's eye. Small and round like a disc. But the men were too fast. They moved too quickly; he could not see what was there.  
  
"No. It couldn't be." The boy muttered to himself. He looked up at the old man beside him, but the grey one's own eyes watched as the men lumbered their way up the ancient stone steps.   
  
The leading man pushed the doors of the hall open and motioned for the burdened men to enter. "Come Stormcrow. You are needed." The soldier pleaded with the old man. He motioned at the entrance to the hall and hurried inside himself to follow the other men.  
  
A few grunts of contemplation crossed the grey man's lips as he stroked his long knotted beard. "Wait outside here, son." The boy with the deep blue eyes could only stand and watch as the old man's weathered grey boots shuffled across the floor and into the hall. The heavy doors shut behind the grey cloak -  
  
except for a tiny opening. Just small enough for him to see the men inside. His silent feet crept over the to the heavy gold-laden doors. Kneeling on the cold stone, he peered inside, but only saw faint shapes of soldiers with shining scabbards. Then, he heard his uncle's voice inside the Great Hall. "It was an orc.", he sighed. "An arrow straight through his back."  
  
"Is there nothing you can do for him?" Another soldier asked.   
  
"No. His life cannot be placed in my hands, for there is no life here." The old man sighed. "He was slain on the field. Bringing him back here held no purpose. Eomund is dead."  
  
The boy gasped and used all his might to push open the doors to the Hall. His words were quick and jumbled as he ran over to his corpse's side. His small pale fingers traced the outline of the cold jawline and pushed a few strands of bloodied blonde hair out of the dead man's face. The face of his father.   
  
Tears welled up in the boy's eyes. And soon, he could not stop them from falling. They streamed down his face and fell on his father's own bloodied sword, laid neatly at his side.   
  
After all his centuries upon the earth, this was a moment that would stay with the old man forever.  
  
He knelt down and took the boy gently by the arm. The boy fought back, wanting to stay by his father's side, but the grey one persisted. And he led a heartbroken, sobbing orphan to his room.  
  
It seemed like days the boy had been crying. The furs on his bed were covered with wet patches of his tears. His younger sister laid beside him on the bed. While he cried, she only seemed to sleep. She was only six years old. She did not understand what was going on. She did not understand that their father would not be there tomorrow, or the next  
  
day, or the day after. While everyone wandered around the castle making arrangements for the burial, he seemed the only one who realized that his father would never be coming back.  
  
"Eomer?" A voice called from behind the door.   
  
"What is it?" His tired and weak voice managed to reply.  
  
The door to his back creaked open, filling the room with a ray of bright light that blinded the boy's eyes. "Eomer. Did I disturb you?" His uncle asked.   
  
"No." The boy flung his head back onto the pile of furs he was using as his pillow. He was angry at his uncle. He didn't understand why, but he was. After all, he was there. Couldn't his uncle saved his father while they were in battle? The boy knew that there was something that could have been done. But nothing was. And now his father would take his place with his own fathers, underneath the earth.  
  
"I understand you are sad, Eomer." His uncle tried to speak words of comfort, but each syllable fell short of solace. "Your father was a brave man. Full of spirit." Even the boy's uncle thought that the words sounded empty and hollow at a time like this. He reached over to his side, where a heavy, polished sword hung. He unbuckled the steel blade from his belt and adjusted the scabbard beneath the hilt. He held it in presentation to his nephew. The long sword rested carefully in his hands, out-streched and a few inches from the boy.  
  
"I was told to give this to you." He continued. "It belonged to your father. He wanted you to take it if..." His voice trailed off. It was probably better that he did not finish his  
  
sentence anyway.   
  
The boy's eyes scanned the black leather of the scabbard. His uncle motioned with his full hands for him to take the blade. A small trembling hand lifted the steel from his uncle's palms and it was placed on his own lap. He stared at the sword a few moments. What was he waiting for? The boy didn't know. He was hoping something magical would happen. But the room was still and silent but for the loud breaths of his sleeping sister, and his own breath, heaving inside his chest.   
  
He ran his hand across the smooth soft casing and slowly removed the it from the shining blade. He sank slightly under the weight of the scabbard. He waved the sword in front of him as he tried to get an idea of how much it could have weighed. He traced his fingers along the intricate engravings that went from the hilt to tip. Small carvings of vines and small flowers, all of which were painted with gold. The uncle watched in silence as his nephew examined the steel within between the boy's tiny fingers.  
  
"You are destined for tremendous things, Eomer." His uncle finally spoke. "I know this. Your father knew it too." He pointed to the sword. "That is a sword of great men, just like your father was."  
  
===============================  
  
He had never used it. It was not until this moment before him that he knew that his father's prophecy was true. Eomer was indeed meant to do great things. He would no longer be that scared little boy, but now, he would take his place as a man, and do his father proud. He threw the ancient blade and his tattered black leather scabbard over his shoulder, and started searching his room for any other item he may need on his journey.   
  
Behind him, a white haze passed his room, then slowly, Eowyn retraced her steps, and walked in, hovering in the doorway. She watched her brother rush about, shifting through his things.  
  
"Eomer, what are you doing?" said Eowyn.  
  
Eomer felt his heart jump. Not hearing his own sister enter, he turned to her and smiled weakly. "Eowyn, what are you doing?"  
  
Eowyn's mouth didn't change from his usual omnious expression. She stepped further into the room. "I believe I asked first, brother," she began. Her voice sounded questioning to Eomer, untrusting. her eyes running over the things he had at hand: a sword, a leather sack apparently full of things, his mail on under hisleather strappings. A terrible thought dawned upon her. "You're leaving." She said flatly.  
  
"It is of great importance that I go, Eowyn--"  
  
"Where are you going?" She shouted. "You returned only a short time ago."  
  
Eomer's shoulders slumped as he looked upon his sister's worried but nonetheless stern expression. Quietly, he said: "To attack Gondor. A great evil has been unleashed there. I leave with Lord Aragorn and his company before nightfall."  
  
Eowyn blinked and stared at her brother. It took a moment of silence for it all to sink in. Overwhelming dread flooded her thoughts, yet she held back her tears. Her eyes shifted to his bag, and the anger started to boil over from underneath the surface. She stomped over to him, her jaw locked in emotional upset, and snatched it from his hand. Having untied it,  
  
she rummaged through its contents. "A blanket, dagger, some armor, rations for one..." she listed off to herself, her words growing in bitterness as she continued. She drew the drawstring tightly closed and shoved it back into her brother's chest.   
  
"And what? Nothing for me?"  
  
Eomer expression changed into a blank slate. "What would I--"  
  
"You know, silly jewels for the silly girl?" Her words dripped with anger.  
  
He couldn't have been hearing this. There was no way she would suggest what he thought she was if she were in her right mind. He shook his head, his forehead folding as he took a step back from his sister. "No," he told her, his hand up, his voice low and determined, knowing what she wanted to do.  
  
"How dare you--"  
  
Eomer's voice sped up, his frustration beginning to show. He would not allow for his sister to join the company. "You will not dare think of coming along.Your place is here, tending to our country and our uncle. He's old, Eowyn, weak and our country is burdened. If we both leave, and neither of us are to return, that would do the damage of a poisoned-tipped sword shearing through Theoden. Neither would survive the blow."  
  
Eowyn fumed, shaking off his hard grip. "And the fact that I am a woman has nothing to do with it?"  
  
"You are my sister--"  
  
"You know very well that I can fight with the best of them!"  
  
"You will not!" shouted Eomer, then whispered, "I forbid it, Eowyn."  
  
Eowyn held her lips in a trembling line, trying to regain control of herself. Her eyes searched the room for anything. ANYTHING that would be a sign. He eyes landed on Eomer's shoulder where she recognized the shining gold hilt and tattered leather scabbard that lay there. She reached over and pulled it off of her brother, with force that he, himself was surprised she possessed. "You think you're the only one in this whole country who lost Father!" She screamed between tears as she raised the sword and scabbard above her head. "You always thought that everything relied on you growing up. Well, it no longer does." She threw the sword back at Eomer, but he missed and it clanged against the stone floor and echoed out into the hallway.  
  
"I will not allow you to be the only one that this broken family ever placed its hopes in. Father believed in us. Not just you, but me too." She reached around her neck and pulled out a golden disc. The carvings on the disc were vines and flowers that were identical to those etched onto Eomer's sword. She held the pendant farther out for him to see. he had forgotten all about it. "He believed in me too."   
  
She let the pendant fall back to its proper position on her neck. "Don't leave me behind." Her voice reduced to sobs. "I want this to end. I want to make Father proud." She bent down and picked up the sword and gently handed it back to her brother.   
  
Eomer hesitantly took it from her hands and positioned it once again around his shoulder. He stared at the gold disc around his sister's neck. "When did you get that?" His voice was shaky, and bewildered.  
  
Eowyn pointed to the sword. "The same day you received that." She walked towards Eomer and looked pleadingly into his eyes. "We are both destined to do great things. We are both to be remembered as heroes and leaders to our land."  
  
Eomer fell into silence, thinking quickly over the possibilities presented to him. He shouldn't do it -- it would risk her life if she dare came and hurt the family as well as Edoras if she were slain. Yet he knew she was most skilled with the sword -- and that gave him some hope that she would actually help their mission and survive. Glancing around the room,  
  
his mind racing, he came to the dangerous conclusion.  
  
He spoke in a low voice. "Go to the armoury and dress quickly, sister. But dress like that of a soldier. Hide any feminity about you."  
  
Eowyn looked at her brother, bewildered.  
  
"Leave, Eowyn. You must hurry. We haven't much time. I'll pack anything else you need.Just disguise yourself as one of my men and obtain your sword."  
  
She stared in disbelief, then launched herself forward, throwing her arms around her brother's neck. She then ran out of the room toward the armoury. He turned back to the rest of his room, his eyes searching for the things she would need -- satchel, rations, and so on. He shouldn't let her go. He would mourn too deeply if she were hurt. But secretly he was relieved she was coming along. He smiled inwardly.  
  
[end part 3] 


End file.
